“Oh, my…” I spotted some stains on the blade. “Whose blood is that?” Had I injured Appleton Manor when I chopped the storage room door?
My gaze immediately darted to the burned parts of the bed. I backed away to the corridor as I realized what had happened for it to look like that. The house would never try to hurt itself. It looked decrepit and lacking maintenance because it wasn’t eating as much as necessary. But none of the things inside the house, or the building itself, were broken or had missing parts. In fact, everything I had seen―every piece of furniture, every plate, the curtains, and even the bedding―I recognized from my teenage years. Nothing had changed.
I understood now. The rooms that were taken down to reduce the maintenance of the manor, as Claire had told me, came crumbling down when they were not feeding it enough blood. That’s what the house spoke through my lips that morning when I went into Claire’s room to leave the photograph. And I hadn’t even questioned it as I said it. The only damaged places were those eaten by rodents and the burned bed. Both exterior factors. The morning I tried to cook breakfast came back to me. The house protested because someone had already attempted to burn it down.
This condemned place could hear me, and it would not let me go and take its secrets with me. The only thing left to do was run.
With all the strength I had left, I pushed through the complete absence of artificial light. I pushed through the ringing in my ears and through the fear trying to paralyze me. I pushed through the deeply ingrained desire burning inside me to let Appleton Hill finish off what we had started. I understood now that the place possessed an intricate sense of intelligence, perhaps the same its creator had. It knew how to play to my deepest desires, tugging at strings tied directly to my heart, trying to handle it like a puppet.
I jumped the last two steps of the staircase and headed to the kitchen. If I had to hack it down, the back door seemed less sturdy than the oak double-doors at front.
“Althea? Are you back?”
Her voice numbed my feet immediately. I felt like I’d been shot with a tranquilizer and the drug was slowly taking me over. I turned and faced her. Beatrix Appleton was in the living room, her wheelchair neatly accommodated between an armchair and a wingback chair. She had her hands folded on her lap and looked as peaceful as ever. In front of her, there was a coffee table with a tea set and a vase filled with white flowers. Just like the ones from Claire’s funeral.
I knew the logical thing to do would have been to keep going. That’s what I repeated like a mantra to maintain the cravings and the throbbing at bay. But I needed answers. I wanted answers. For my sake. For Claire’s sake. I simply needed to know, so I could keep the promise I had made to my friend at her funeral.
“How many people have you fed to the house?” I spat out, and the smile she had plastered on her face dissolved. “Does it feed off of you as well? How many cuts do you have on you? Are you any closer to a thousand, Beatrix? Did Claire reach a thousand cuts on her body; is that why she died? Answer me!”
While rage impregnated my words, some part of me squirmed, remembering I had treated this woman with more respect than my own mother had ever received from me. I admired her. I wanted her to be my mother. I wished for it for years… But I also knew that part of those feelings bubbling up had to do with the way Appleton Manor had rewired me during those bizarre nights, to make itself a part of me. This house didn’t need electrical wires. It needed human veins pulsing with life.
“Now, now. Don’t get so agitated. What happened to Claire was all her fault. She was nowhere near a thousand cuts. Neither am I. And I would never let it happen. She was my daughter, you know? I loved my daughter. But there is a price to pay to live in this beautiful estate. And if you ask me, Althea, I think it isn’t that high. With just a little bit of blood, this fabulous construction runs itself. There is no necessity for heating or lighting. I never have to buy furniture or linens. Don’t you find it marvelous there are no actual bills to pay for such a glorious place? As far as I’m concerned, a little blood is a bargain.”
Chapter 32
I could not believe the words coming out of her mouth. Was this woman completely deranged? It certainly sounded like that. She had been living inside a house that required her to feed it. I could recognize some of that madness as I had experienced it myself.
“‘This property was built upon the blood of innocents. That always brings sorrow and disgrace,’” I repeated the quote from the oral history book.
“Excuse me?” This threw Beatrix Appleton off. Her act fell apart as she heard my statement.
“Claire tried to burn down the house. Was that what happened?” One last thing joined the chain of events I was finally putting together. “Why did Claire try to take down the house? Was it because you didn’t want her to marry Tom?”
“Of course not! I would’ve welcomed him with open arms. If anything, we could use fresh blood around here. Since that didn’t happen, you came to fill in the blank space.”
Claire and Tom had wanted to elope. It wasn’t that Beatrix didn’t want her daughter marrying a simple gardener, as Adelaide had assumed. It was that Claire tried to protect Tom from turning into Appleton Hill’s next meal. But why did she do it? If Claire knew how the house worked, why did she do something to jeopardize her whole plan?
“That man was putting inconvenient ideas inside my daughter’s head. Claire was such a gullible child. If they wanted to get married, I’m sure once Tom moved in, we could’ve found a way to turn his mind around,” Beatrix Appleton stated while she touched the armchair next to her with two fingers.
Her actions felt nauseating. She seemed to be getting some sort of delight by caressing that chair. Perhaps that was what Tom did to improve Claire’s life. Not only had he brought love into it, but somehow, he breathed new―and much needed―oxygen into her brain. I suddenly understood that the dead stare people had noticed on Claire had to do more with the way Appleton Manor clouded one’s mind once it started to feed off you.
“No, this wasn’t about Tom. Claire realized you had been letting the house feed off Rose, right? Am I right?”
Beatrix continued to fixate on tracing the swirls carved into the wood of the armchair. It was sickening how she kept doing that with a satisfied smile on her face.
“Claire had this silly thing of trying to shield people from the house. Which, in reality, is absurd.” She finally took her eyes away from the armchair and motioned with her hands to the room around her. “Who wouldn’t want to be a part of this fascinating legacy?”
Beatrix waited for an answer, and when she didn’t get one, she cleared her throat and carried on.
“Yes, when my daughter realized Rose had been fully consumed, she threw a fit, as she usually did to protect certain people. Yet this time she took it too far. Claire tried to hurt the house, and the house defended itself. That is all. I know I’d promised Claire that―after Charles was gone―I wouldn’t feed any more family members to the house, but I still think she overreacted. And it had its consequences, evidently…”
“The house defended itself.” This entire conversation was surreal. I knew Beatrix was beyond the point of no return the moment I remembered who Charles was. He was Claire’s father.
“Did Claire protect me?” I asked. It was the only reason I could think of for the house not eating me when I was a teenager. It was the same reasoning behind her rejection of Aidan, and the―no longer ridiculous―promise Tom kept, even after her death.
“‘Just let me keep this one friend, Mother, please?’ I remember her words clearly. It was like a child asking permission to keep a puppy. So endearing. She protected you and I gave her the opportunity to do so. Claire loved you, Althea. And back in the day, I was still a young and beautiful widower who needed a shoulder to cry on. Suffice to say there was no shortage of fresh blood impregnating these walls.” Beatrix showed me a smile filled with a repugnant sense of pride. “It wasn’t until you came up with that ridiculous
idea of moving to New York that I let the house feed off Claire. I couldn’t afford to lose her, you see? To be honest, I think she enjoyed it.”
This was the reason behind Claire’s rejection. She was taking upon herself the full weight of the Appleton legacy. She didn’t want to drag anyone down with her.
“I did try to get her to date a little,” Beatrix Appleton continued, oblivious to my reaction of pain, “but she turned down every single man I sent her way. I even set her up with a woman, to see if that sparked her interest. I honestly thought she was frigid… until that delightful gardener showed up. They were not so good at keeping it a secret, you see?”
I had managed to hold back my rage during that excruciating conversation. But listening to that monster talk about how my beautiful, caring friend refused to be pimped out to maintain this horrifying legacy turned out to be too much. I was still standing at the living room entrance, next to a wall. Gripping the ax with both hands, I swung it to my right, where there was a table with a vase on it and a mirror hanging above it.
Both vase and mirror fell in pieces to the floor.
“NOOO!” Beatrix Appleton shrieked, and the house quivered again.
I turned to my left to break the ornaments on the other side of the entrance; nothing would stop me now. What I did not anticipate was one final revelation, one that would freeze my arms in full swing.
Beatrix was standing. Next to the chair she had caressed with disturbing pleasure, she was now standing on her own two feet, sobbing at the loss of the mirror I had broken. Behind her stood the wheelchair she had pushed away when the sight of the ax hitting her belongings propelled her out of it.
Claire’s mother wasn’t an invalid. She had never been bound to a wheelchair. The final question had been answered. The wheelchair was nothing but an act. The ornaments were not enough now. I leaped to the coffee table in front of Beatrix and brought the blade of the ax down onto it with all my might.
One time.
Beatrix screamed in fear.
Two times.
I screamed in anger.
The house shook and squirmed as I’ve never seen a solid object do. The tremor was audible, like the frightening sound of an earthquake, running under the floorboards and the wallpaper. The blade became bloodier and bloodier with each hit. I felt drops of it splattering my face, and I wondered if they were mine. Or was it Milton’s blood? Was it Claire’s?
“This house owns you now. Respect it.” I heard Henry Appleton’s words loud and clear above the deafening sounds coming from the house.
“Over my dead body!” I pushed back.
I moved onto the sofa and started to hack away the pillows. Feathers flew around me in the haste of mad destruction enrapturing me. Feathers that soon left behind their natural white color to adopt an unnatural shade of red. The more I let the blade fall on whatever was in front of me, the redder my vision became.
Appleton Hill was now in full earthquake mode. Every single part of it trembled as Beatrix Appleton’s cries mixed with all the noise. She had crawled to one of the corners of the room, trying to hide from me, probably believing I was going to hack her to pieces. Truth be told, at that moment I was aiming at everything and everyone.
Some floorboards sprang up, making the floor unstable and bringing me to my knees. As I scrambled to get hold of the ax at my feet, I noticed a movement around the light switches. Something was coming from them, creeping out and taking over the walls.
“Cables… the cables…” I couldn’t finish my own thought, but I understood now that this was the house’s way of fighting back, as Beatrix had put it. Claire didn’t hang herself. The house had strangled her with the chandelier’s wiring.
This was a fight to the death, and I was going to win it. I jumped to my feet and scurried to the closest switch. I swung the ax over my head and let the blade snap the wires in half, feeling like I was cutting away Henry Appleton’s fingers. Suddenly, the glass of the large windows looking out to the front of the house exploded inwards. I hunkered down, trying to protect myself from getting even more injured by the manor.
It was either it or me.
With my arms still covering my head, I peeked at the walls and saw blood pouring through the wallpaper, as if through pores of skin. Unable to take my eyes away from the vermilion curtain unfolding around me, I lowered my arms and placed one hand on the floor to get up. When I touched a warm liquid with my fingertips, I looked down. There was blood bubbling up from under the detached floorboards.
Appleton Manor was starting to flood, to choke itself on the blood it had drunk throughout the centuries. But its survival skills were not perfect. In an effort to defend itself, the house had created an easy exit for me.
I jumped out through one of the broken windows and landed heavily on the other side. After that, all I remember is scrambling to my feet and running down the hill. I had no idea where I left the ax or what was going to happen to Beatrix Appleton. My only concern at that moment was to survive.
I was running down the last steps to reach the street when I noticed fresh blood beneath my boots, as though I was crossing a bloody swamp. I pushed myself harder until I made it to the other side of the road. Out of breath, I leaned forward and placed my hands on my knees. When the ringing in my ears faded away, I turned around.
It was a gruesome spectacle. Blood poured down the hill on all sides, and I feared it might reach me once again. I was calculating the next phase of my exit, trying to shake away the trembling that had taken over my legs, when I noticed an incessant sound encircling the hill. It wasn’t the earthquake-like drumroll I had already heard. This was as if a massive swarm of bees was hovering over me.
Except there were no bees. It was coming from the vines. The plants that had sprung from Milton’s body began to retract themselves. The bushes were whisked away by the rivers of blood that kept cascading down, while the trees―suddenly rootless―toppled and rolled downhill.
And the house.
Appleton Manor started to crumble away. Piece by piece, that stately construction was disintegrating on the spot as blood ran out of it. From where I was standing, that was not the only mesmerizing thing to watch. To my right, the garden of red statues that had caused such an impression on me also met its fate. The vines were retracting to a spot I could not pinpoint, apparently on the other side of the hill. However, some of them took the time to wrap themselves around Henry Appleton and his family. And they began to squeeze them, harder and harder, choking them with Milton’s wrath. Eventually, the statues caved in and, like blood-filled balloons, they exploded in a red rain that mixed with the rest of the deluge.
Slowly, the self-generated earthquake diminished. It was interesting to note how, even though the amount of blood pouring out of the house was unbelievable, the land absorbed most of it, so it barely made it to the street.
By this point, I realized I was not the only one witnessing the fall of Appleton Hill. A small crowd was gathering around me to watch in bewilderment. The Appleton reign was over. Bled dry for good. The property was gone. The wild nature that had tried to devour the house for centuries was also gone, and—
“There is no more fog,” I heard Jo behind me, finishing my thoughts.
Luckily, the blood had not taken everything with it. The only legacy that would survive was the one directly linked to Claire. By the time the squirming of Appleton Hill stopped, the last thing still standing was the shelter. When Mother Nature reeled its tentacles back into the earth’s womb, the shelter stood strong. A beacon of light shining brightly above the devastation, waiting for those willing to brave the waves of the sea of blood.
“Althea,” Jo said. “Why the hell do you smell like that?”
Chapter 33
“Thank you for driving her to the airport, Jo.”
“Sure. I was happy to do it,” her voice resonated on the other end of the line. “She was worried about her clothes not being ‘fancy enough’ for the Hollywood crowd.”
&nb
sp; “She shouldn’t.” I smiled. “My own clothes are not ‘fancy enough’ for the Hollywood crowd,” I joked and heard a chuckle from Jo.
“I’m glad you decided to take your mother to the award ceremony. It is the right thing to do.”
“Yeah, I think it’s time to let some wounds heal.”
“So…” Jo started, which meant that the real reason for her phone call wasn’t to let me know my mother was on a plane flying to Los Angeles. I had received numerous calls from Jo in the past weeks that started with small talk before the conversation veered towards a serious topic. I braced myself for what I was about to hear. “We identified two new sets of remains.”
“Rose Carter?” I asked, jumping to a hopeful conclusion.
“No. One is a pizza delivery boy. The other is Charles Larson, Claire’s father. Sorry.”
I told Jo she shouldn’t apologize for making progress sorting out the countless sets of human remains the police had found on the hill. The place was covered with the skeletons of those off whom the house had fed. One of the easiest bodies to identify was that of Beatrix Appleton, since she was not a skeleton, but also because she was the only one buried under Appleton Manor’s roof. The property had collapsed on top of her.
The forensic report stated that Beatrix didn’t even try to escape her own ending. I never received confirmation from her, but I still wondered if she was the one who cut my skin to let the house drink my blood. I was certain that the house made the mold fall upon me and it created a drug-induced sleep, also giving me the wildest dreams. It was why I didn’t wake up when the cuts were performed on me. And why the giant mold-spot followed me, despite moving the bed.
That was why Claire appeared in my dreams that first night and dragged me to her room. She knew what her mother was up to. Claire knew that, after her death, her bedroom seemed to be an untouchable place. Although I still had a hard time imagining the wires coming out through the hole in the ceiling and wrapping themselves around her neck.
The Haunting of Appleton Hill Page 18